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DUMB   IN  JUNE 

By 
Richard  Burton 

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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/dumbinjunerichOOburtrich 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


Richard  Burton's  Books 


Message  and  Melody 

$j.oo,  net 

Literary  Likings 

A  Book  of  Essays      $i-SO 

Memorial  Day 

$I.OO 

Lyrics  of  Brotherhood 

$I.OO 

Dumb  in  June 

$0.75 


Lothrop  Publishing  Company 
Boston 


DUMB  IN  JUNE 


RICHARD      BURTON 


LOTHROP     PUBLISHING 
COMPANY  BOSTON 


OF   THf 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY  COPELAND  AND  DAY. 

I397f 


CONTENTS 

Apology 

Dumb  in  June 

The  City 

Across  the  Fields  to  Anne 

Page  I 

7 
9 

Of  One  Afflicted  with  Deafness 

1 1 

If  We  Had  the  Time 

12 

Saint  Cecilia 

14 

In  a  City  Park 
Values 

15 
16 

Day  Laborers 
A  Potion 

17 
18 

Two  Mountains 

19 

The  Awakening 
The  River 

20 
23 

The  Passing  of  the  Birds 
October 

24 
^5 

The  Vanished  Voice 

27 

Yesterday 

Compensation 

Day  and  Night 

Schoolboys 

In  the  Shadows 

29 

31 

32 
32 
33 

Sea-Pictures 

34 

Song  and  Singer 
March  Days 

36 

37 

211013 


CONTENTS 

In  Delirmm 

Page  38 

Unafraid 

41 

The  Comfort  of  the  Stars 

42 

From  the  Garden 

A  Spring  Thought 

47 

Still  Days  and  Stormy 

48 

Two  Roses 

49 

A  Meadow  Fancy 

50 

God's  Garden 

51 

The  Flower  of  Seven  Changes 

51 

A  Group  of  Songs 

The  First  Song 

57 

Song  in  Absence 

58 

A  Song  of  Meeting 

59 

Song  of  the  Sea 

60 

Hearth  Song 

62 

Daybreak  Song 

63 

A  Song  of  Life 

64 

Sonnets 

The  Spirit 

69 

An  Unpraised  Picture 

70 

Wood  Witchery 

71 

Deserted  Farms 

72 

Realists 

73 

Blank  Verse 

In  Sleep 

77 

The  Lost  Atlantis 

77 

CONTENTS 

Spirits  of  Summer  Page  79 

Mortis  Dignitas  80 

Voices  8 1 

Masks  8  3 

The  Bleak  o'  the  Year  85 

Early  Winter  86 

The  Inappreciable  Years  87 
The  Ultimate 


THE  LYRIC  POET'S  APOLOGY 

I  strive  to  probe  to  other  hearts,  and  find 
I  do  but  fret  the  phantom  of  mine  own  ; 

I  strain  to  paint  great  Nature,  and  my  mind 
But  images  itself  in  every  zone. 

The  lesson  learned,  I  sing  Life's  vs'oven  lay 

In  syllables  of  Self,  and  can  no  other  way. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

AND    OTHER 

POEMS 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


Ah,  the  thought  hurts  at  my  heart, 

Ah,  the  thought  is  death  to  singing, " 
Dumb  in  June!   to  lack  the  art, 

The  divine  deep  impulse  bringing 
Power  and  passion  in  their  train  j 
To  perceive  the  subtile  wane 

Of  the  waters  erstwhile  springing 
Buoyant,  brimful  on  the  shore  j 

Ebb-tide  now  for  evermore! 
Song-tide  o'er,  no  mounting  moon 
With  her  white  lures  to  the  sea 
Surging  once  from  depths  of  me, 

Till  the  earth  and  sky  seemed  ringing 
With  the  wild  waves'  melody, 
With  their  large,  unfettered  tune  5 
Dumb  in  June! 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

II 

Yet  by  sea  and  by  land, 
In    the    water-wooed  marshes  or    meadows 

wide-reaching  and  bland, 
The  summer  is  regal  and  rich,  the  summer 

on  every  hand 
Spills     largesses     splendid    to     mortals,     to 

women  and  men. 

For  when 
Is    the    breeze    sweeter    fratught    with    the 

breath  of  the  hay. 
Is  the  thrush-note  more  calm  or  the  robin's 

loud  lay 
More    blithe,   or  the    rose  more  the    queen 

of  the  day  ? 

Now  say. 
What  month  is  more  bounteous  in  beauties, 

in  balms. 

In  lyrics,  in  psalms. 
In    gold-heart    fair    fancies    of  sunset,    and 

calms 
Of    twilight,     or     after-glows    wondrously 

clear  ? 

One  may  hear 
The  booming  of  bees  and  the  brook' s  lulled 

refrain. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

The  stream's  liquid  epic,   the  grasshopper's 

plain, 
The  frog's  bass  reiterant   languor  at  night. 
The    day-long  and    dark-long   sound-woof, 

interplight 
With    dreamings  and  memories   somber   or 

bright. 

And  yet. 
Oh,  regret, 
Oh,  pain  that  is  death  doubly  keen. 
The    Goddess  of  Song  will  not    stead    me, 

al-be  she  hath  seen 
My    anguish,    my    voiceless    despair    i'   the 

midst  of  the  green 
And    glorious    season    that    shimmers    and 

sparkles  and  blows  ; 

Will  not  grant  me  the  boon 
Of  a    single  brief  air   that    is  born  as  the 

violet  grows 
In  the  woods,  shy-withdrawn  from  the  outer 

world's  welter  and  woes. 
To  the  sound  of  the  treetops'  dim  croon. 
I  am  dumb,  be  it  morning  or  noontide  or 

eve  ; 
'Tis  a  thought  that  must  haunt  me  and  bid 

me  to  grieve. 

Dumb  in  June  ! 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


III 


A  very  miracle, 
I  saw  a  moment  gone  : 
A  honeysuckle,  vine  and  bloom. 
Lustrous  green  and  coral  red, 
I  glimpsed  above  my  head 
Shedding  a  rapt  perfume. 
And  then  this  marvel  fell 

That  I  would  dwell  upon  : 
A  bird  —  nay,  rather  say  an  airy  sprite 

Compact  of  color,  light, 
And  a  most  ravishing  power  of  flight. 
Darted  from  nowhere,  somewhere, 

And  alighted  there. 
And  sat  at  gaze  a  moment  or  twain. 
And  then  was  off  again. 
Not    Wordsworth's   cuckoo  were   a   dearer 
guest 

Unto  my  quest, 
So  insubstantial,  spirit  small 
And  fleetsome  in  his  call  j 

Ah,  ye  know  well 
It  was  the  humming-bird  whereof  I  tell. 
But  there  I  drowsed,  nor  might  with  song 
commune. 

Dumb  to  this  visitant  frolicsome. 
Dumb  in  June  ! 
4 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

IV 

This   mother-month  of  Summer  holds   her 
place 

Not  only  by  the  grace 
Attending  on  her  many  winsome  ways,  — 
Her  flower-gifts,  her  bird-lays. 
Her  bridal  form  and  face,  — 
But  by  what  went  before  and  cometh  after  ; 
April  tears.  May  blooms  and  laughter, 
September's  blazonry,  and  then  October 
Frult-ripe  and  hushed  and  most  Imperially 

sober 
}•     With  sense  of  harvest  dignity  and  worth. 
^  Thus,  memory  and  expectation. 

Spring-gleams,  fruitions  of  the  fall, 
Encircle  June  and  give  unto  her  station 
A  reverend  look,  a  light  historical  j 
Child,  maiden,  matron,  she  Is  each  and  all  : 
A  poet  must  do  her  homage  — but  alas  ! 
The  good  days  come  and  pass. 
Therewith    the     knowledge    they    are    over 

soon. 
Yet  from  my  pipe  the  vibrancy  Is  fled, 

I  may  not  music  wed. 

But  fain  must  lie  grief-stricken  In  the  grass. 

Dumb,  dumb  In  June. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


Now  cease  the  querulous  lament 
Of  weakling  discontent  ! 
All   things    must   by    their    living    learn    to 
know 

The  blight  of  silence,  dearth  and  snow 
That  covers  up  the  goodship  of  the  flowers. 

Our  mortal  hours 
Are  shapen  so  5    perchance  when  trees  are 

bare 
And  ice-tipped  daggers  hurtle  through  the 
air 

And  death  is  everywhere, 
My  lips  shall  be  loosened  for  song,  and  the 

lyre 
Soft-touched  with  ethereal  fire 
Shall  quiver,  suspire 
Sweet     harmonies,     motions     ecstatic     and 

higher 
Than  any  the  loftiest  pitch  of  my  hope  ; 
Perchance  neither  snow-time  nor   rose-time 

gives  scope 
To  the  music  pent  in  me,  in  each  seeking 
soul  5 

May  be  that  our  goal. 
Our  altar  for  singing  lies  elsewhere,  afar. 


THE    CITY 

In  a  dream,  in  a  star, 
And  the  slow-working  leaven 
Of   years    shall     make     mortal     immortally 
strong 

For  song, 
For  full  hymning  in  Heaven  ! 

May  it  be, 
May  the  summers  be  strewn 
With    hints    and    foretokens  for  heartening 

of  me 
And   hosts   of  my  brothers,  who  yearn   for 
the  voice 

Wherewith  to  rejoice. 
Yet  nathless  remain 
Year  through  and  life  through  and  ever  again 
Song  numb,  song  dumb. 
Dumb  in  June  ! 


THE    CITY 

They  do  neither  plight  nor  wed 

In  the  city  of  the  dead. 

In  the  city  where  they  sleep  away  the  hours  j 

But  they  lie,  while  o'er  them  range 

Winter-blight  and  summer  change, 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

And    a    hundred     happy     whisperings     of 

flowers. 
No,  they  neither  wed  nor  plight, 
And  the  day  is  like  the  night. 
For  their  vision  is  of  other  kind  than  ours. 

They  do  neither  sing  nor  sigh, 

In  that  burgh  of  by  and  by 

Where    the    streets    have    grasses    growing 

cool  and  long  j 
But  they  rest  within  their  bed, 
Leaving  all  their  thoughts  unsaid, 
Deeming  silence  better  far  than  sob  or  song. 
No,  they  neither  sigh  nor  sing. 
Though  the  robin  be  a-wing. 
Though    the    leaves    of    autumn    march    a 

million  strong. 

There  is  only  rest  and  peace 

In  the  City  of  Surcease 

From   the   failings   and  the  wailings  'neath 

the  sun. 
And  the  wings  of  the  swift  years 
Beat  but  gently  o'er  the  biers. 
Making  music  to  the  sleepers  every  one. 
There  Is  only  peace  and  rest  j 


ACROSS  THE  FIELDS  TO    ANNE 

But  to  them  it  seemeth  best, 
For  they  lie  at   ease  and  know  that  life  is 
done. 


ACROSS  THE  FIELDS  TO   ANNE 

From  Stratford-on-Avon  a  lane  runs  westward 
through  the  fields  a  mile  to  the  little  village  of  Shot- 
tery,  in  which  is  the  cottage  of  Anne  Hathaway, 
Shakspere's  sweetheart  and  wife. 

How  often  in  the  summer-tide, 

His  graver  business  set  aside, 

Has  stripling  Will,  the  thoughtful-eyed, 

As  to  the  pipe  of  Pan 

Stepped  blithesomely  with  lover's  pride 

Across  the  fields  to  Anne  ! 

It  must  have  been  a  merry  mile, 

This  summer  stroll  by  hedge  and  stile. 

With  sweet  foreknowledge  all  the  while 

How  sure  the  pathway  ran 

To  dear  delights  of  kiss  and  smile. 

Across  the  fields  to  Anne. 

The  silly  sheep  that  graze  to-day, 
I  wot,  they  let  him  go  his  way. 
Nor  once  looked  up,  as  who  should  say  : 

9 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

**It  is  a  seemly  man." 

For  many  lads  went  wooing  aye 

Across  the  fields  to  Anne. 

The  oaks,  they  have  a  wiser  look ; 
Mayhap  they  whispered  to  the  brook  : 
**  The  world  by  him  shall  yet  be  shook. 
It  is  in  nature's  plan  5 
Though  now  he  fleets  like  any  rook 
Across  the  fields  to  Anne.''' 

And  I  am  sure,  that  on  some  hour 
Coquetting  soft  'twixt  sun  and  shower. 
He  stooped  and  broke  a  daisy-flower 
With  heart  of  tiny  span. 
And  bore  it  as  a  lover's  dower 
Across  the  fields  to  Anne. 

While  from  het*  cottage  garden-bed 
She  plucked  a  jasmine's  goodlihede. 
To  scent  his  jerkin's  brown  instead  ; 
Now  since  that  love  began. 
What  luckier  swain  than  he  who  sped 
Across  the  fields  to  Anne  ? 

The  winding  path  whereon  I  pace, 

The  hedgerows  green,  the  summer's  grace, 

10 


OF    ONE    AFFLICTED 

Are  still  before  me  face  to  face  ; 
Methinks  I  almost  can 
Turn  poet  and  join  the  singing  race 
Across  the  fields  to  Anne  ! 


OF     ONE     AFFLICTED     WITH 
DEAFNESS 

She  moves  about  the  house  with  meek  con- 
tent, 

Her  face  is  like  a  psalm  from  other  years  j 
She  only  guesses  half  of  what  is  meant, 

But  hides  her  impotence,  her  natural  tears. 

Whenso  we  gather  close  for  jest  or  tale 
She  shuns  the  circle,  lest  it  fret  our  mood 

To  raise  our  voices  till  our  joyance  fail  j 
She  sits  apart  in  patient  quietude. 

And   though  we   try  to   make  her  lot  more 
bright. 
To   set  her  in  our  midst  and  show  her 
love 
(For    she    is    lovesome),    yet    few    glimpse 
aright 
Her  desolation  and  the  cross  thereof. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

Dear   God,  may  recompense   be  hers   from 
Thee  5 
May  melodies  from  days  gone  by  come 
back 
To  fill  her  silence,  and  a  symphony 

Played  soft,   of  angels,   soothe  her  sorry 
lack, 

That,    while    she    sits    and   makes  no   least 
demur, 

Left  much  to  loneliness  and  forced  apart. 
She  have  companionship  to  comfort  her, 

And  hear  a  constant  singing  in  her  heart. 


IF   WE    HAD    THE   TIME 

If  I  had  the  time  to  find  a  place 
And  sit  me  down  full  face  to  face 

With  my  better  self,  that  cannot  show 
In  my  daily  life  that  rushes  so  : 
It  might  be  then  I  would  see  my  soul 
Was     stumbling    still  toward    the     shining 
goal, 

I  might  be  nerved  by  the  thought  sub- 
lime, — 

If  I  had  the  time  ! 


IF   WE    HAD    THE   TIME 

If  I  had  the  time  to  let  my  heart 
Speak  out  and  take  In  my  b'fe  a  part, 

To  look  about  and  to  stretch  a  hand 
To    a    comrade    quartered    in  no-luck 
land  5 
Ah,  God  !     If  I  might  but  just  sit  still 
And  hear  the  note  of  the  whip-poor-will, 

I    think    that     my    wish    with    God's 
would  rhyme  — 

If  I  had  the  time  ! 

If  I  had  the  time  to  learn  from  you 
How  much  for  comfort  my  word  could  do  ; 
And    I  told    you    then  of  my  sudden 

will 
To  kiss  your  feet  when  I  did  you  ill  ; 
If  the  tears  aback  of  the  coldness  feigned 
Could  flow,    and   the   wrong   be  quite   ex- 
plained, — 

Brothers,    the  souls    of  us    all    would 
chime. 

If  we  had  the  time  ! 


13 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


SAINT    CECILIA 

A  woman  with  a  charmed  hand 

To  wake  sweet  music,  — yea,  a  saint 

Whose  home  is  in  the  mystic  land 
Where  poets  sing  and  painters  paint. 

She  wears  a  soft  and  Old-World  grace, 
Her  eyes  are  large  with  re  very  5 

Her  solemn  organ  fills  the  place 

With  sounds  that  set  the  spirit  free. 

The  lily  is  her  flower,  and  meek 
Her  look  is,  as  the  flower's  own  5 

She  hath  no  color  in  her  cheek, 
One  thinks  of  her  as  oft  alone. 

Rubens  once  wrought  her,  playing  there. 
And  made  her  beautiful,  yet  missed 

The  holiness,  the  pensive  air 

Of  one  whose  face  high  heaven  has  kissed. 

And  Carlo  Dolci  tried,  nor  failed  : 
Cecilia  sits  and  plays,  and  seems 

A  saint  whose  soul  is  unassailed. 

And  yet  the  woman  of  our  dreams  ! 

14 


IN    A    CITY    PARK 


IN    A    CITY    PARK 

A  stretch  of  lawn  as  smooth  as  happiness, 
And    tender  green  withal,    and   dappled 
o'er 
With    shadows    that     the    birches     throw, 
unless 
A  maple  here  and  there  throws  shadows 
more. 
Beyond,  the  houses,  spires,  toilings,  din. 
And  all  that  makes  a  cityful  of  sin. 

And  yet  the  sun's   ashine,  and,   somehow, 

from 
Uhis  common  scene,  that's   trying  to  be 

fair, 
There's  something  rises  in  the  city's  hum. 
There's    somethii]g    brooding    o'er    the 

smoke  and  blare. 
That  makes  the  place  and  time  and  people 

seem 
A  beauty,  and  a  promise,  and  a  dream. 


15 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


VALUES 

I  make  apprlsal  of  the  maiden  moon 

For  what  she  is  to  me  : 
Not  a  great  globe  of  cheerless  stone 
That  hangs  in  awful  space  alone, 

And  ever  so  to  be  } 
But  just  the  rarest  orb. 
The  very  fairest  orb, 
The  star  most  lovely-wise 
In  all  the  dear  night-skies  ! 

So  thou  to  me,  O  jestful  girl  of  June  ! 

I  have  no  will  to  hear 
Cold  calculations  of  thy  worth 
Summed  up  in  beauty,  brain,  and  birth  : 

Such  coldly  strike  mine  ear. 
Thou  art  the  rarest  one. 
The  very  fairest  one. 
The  soul  most  lovely-wise 
That  ever  looked  through  eyes  ! 


i6 


DAY    LABORERS 


DAY    LABORERS 

They  straggle  down  the  street  j  the  morn- 
ing light 
Is  on  their  shiftless  steps,   their  shoulders 
bent  5 
They  work  with  sinews  lame  —  a  grievous 
sight 
Of  waning  strength,  of  hope  and  courage 
spent. 

It  seems  sardonic  thus  to  set  them  here, 
Old  men  and  weary,   in  the  day's  fresh 
hour. 
What  solace  can  be  theirs,   what  sense   of 
cheer. 
What  puissant  thought,   what  dream   of 
transient  power  ? 

Few    sadder  things  on  earth  than  toilsome 
age 
Without  its  dignities,  its  honored  hairs  ; 
A  time  of  vacant  mind  and  vassalage 

Before  the  last  grim  change  from  mortal 
cares. 


17 


0N»VER8,TY 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

And  yet  one  benison  the  pilgrims  know: 
For  mother-church  receives  them,    makes 
them  glad 
With  pomps  and  promises,  yea,  sets  aglow 
These  human  hearts  the  sorry  week-long 
sad. 

And  I  can  bless  her  reverend  ways  and  wise 
(Although  in  other  symbols  I  am  bred). 

Since  she  doth  wipe  the  tears  from  piteous 
eyes 
And  leaveth  not  the  poor  uncomforted. 


A     POTION 

How  brew  the  brave  drink  Life  ? 

Take  of  the  herb  hight  morning-joy. 
Take  of  the  herb  hight  evening-rest. 

Pour  in  pain  lest  bliss  should  cloy, 
Shake  in  sin  to  give  it  zest  5 
Brew  them  all  in  the  heat  of  noon. 
Cool  the  broth  beneath  the  moon ; 
Then  down  with  the  brave  drink  Life  1 


18 


TWO    MOUNTAINS 


TWO    MOUNTAINS 

Monadnock    looms    against    the    pale     blue 

dome 
Of   sky,    a    monarch    crowned    with    cloud 

and  sun  5 
Massive    the    moods    of    this    rock-ribbed 

one 
In    ways     of    God    that    seemeth    most    at 

home  ; 
An  archetypal  art  those  contours  made, 
An  elemental  brush  the  colors  laid. 

Type    of   New    England,    creature    of  her 

womb. 
Rugged  yet  beautiful,  thy  fearless  front 
Preaches  old  freedom,  and  her  sturdy  wont 
And  purity  and  faith  and  living-room  5 
Fore-elder,  thou,  of  simpler,  saner  days 
When   God   meant   prayer  and   Fatherland 

meant  praise. 

So  Emerson,  whose  land  w^as  made  to  thee 
In  words  of  bardic  wonder,  was  a  peak 
Sprung  from  the  same  dear  soil,  and  fain  to 
speaik 

19 


DUMB    IN   JUNE 

Faced  skyward  towards  the  heavens'  clarity  5 
The   same  New  England  gave  him  goodly 

birth, 
The    same    large    mood,   the   same   untired 

earth. 

Anak  of  hills  that  take  the  questing  eye. 
Great   dominant   thing   in  all  this  landscape 

wide, 
'Twas    meet    that    thou    shouldst     thus    be 

magnified 
By   him,    that   strength   to    strength   should 

make  reply  : 
Monadnock,  moveless,  whatsoe'er  the  wind. 
Like  Emerson  midst  shifts  of  humankind. 


THE    AWAKENING 

The  beauties  of  the  world  do  master  me  : 
They  put  my  soul  in  such  a  heavy  swoon 

I  may  not  sing  of  half  the  love  I  see 

Beneath  the  sun,  beneath  the  lady  moon. 

Love,    wake   me    from    this    languor    deep, 
that  I 

May  truly  sing  of  beauty  ere  I  die. 


THE    AWAKENING 

Wake  me  by  bending  down   thy  dreamful 
face 
And     touching     lips     to    mine     swoon- 
bounden  5  then 
My  soul  shall  leap  and  quiver  in  its  place, 
And  I  shall  turn  the  mightiest  of  men, 
A    master    there,    with  Earth  and  Sky  my 

slave. 
Because  of  that  one  kiss  my  mistress  gave. 

Day's  sweetest  flower  shall  witness  to    me 

make. 
Night's  boldest  star  send  messages  of  fire, 
And  all  the  birds  that  be,   for    love's  sole 

sake. 
Shall  quicken  wing  to  come  at  my  desire  5 
While     hearts    of    humankind   hot-beating, 

cold. 
Draw  nigh  and  house  with  me  till  days  are 

old. 

The  morning's  challenge  in  the  changeful 
east  — 

A  challenge  to  the  heart  to  Hve  anew  — 
Shall  steal  into  whatever  words  the  least 

My  song  shall  fashion  tenderly  and  true. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

The  wonder  of  the  sundown  in  the  west 
Shall  shine  again,  and  so  be  twice  expressed. 

The  sweetest  sounds  of  music  shall  unite 

My  dreams  to  sister-dreams,  as  rosaries 
Of  carven  beads  are  set  and  strung  aright 
Upon    some     silken    cord     sad    nuns    to 
please  : 
Each  lovesome  thought  shall  find  a    liquid 

sound. 
And  Love  be  doubly  Love  so  set  around. 

The  open  fields  shall  offer  honest  cheer. 
The    woods,   wind-shaken,    sing    a    wel- 
come-song. 
And    every    wight   who   haunts    the  wood- 
lands dear 
Shall  rate    me  as  a  mate  to  shield  from 
wrong. 
The  sea  the  secret  of  his  monotone, 
An  age-old  thing,  to  me  will  tell  alone. 

Such   powers    shall    be    mine    because    you 
came 
And  kissed  me  once  ;  whereat  the  deep- 
est bliss 


THE    RIVER 

That  ever  mortal  knew  ran  swift  aflame 
Straight  to  my  soul,  and  taught  me  only 
this  : 
To  step  into  the  very  deep  of  Love 
And  make  my  nest  and  sing  the  joy  thereof. 


THE    RIVER 

There  was  a  mighty  river  that  I  knew 

In   time   long-by  5    it  made  me  hold  my 

breath 

To  watch  its   wondrous  ways  —  so  wide   it 

grew, 

So  plain  the  darker  eddies  spoke  of  death, 

The  lads  that  dared  to  swim  it  were  so  few  ! 

Man    grown,    to-day    I    muse     the    stream 
beside. 
And     smile,     remembering — for    'tis    a 
span 
And  nothing  more  to  reach  across  its  tide, 
While  in  the  blackest  pools  your  eye  may 
scan 
The  bottom,  where  the  minnows  hunt  and 
hide. 


^3 


DUMB   IN    JUNE 

Mayhap  the  rivers  will  not  shrink  to  streams, 
In  that  dim  land  that  lies  beyond  our  dreams. 


THE    PASSING    OF    THE    BIRDS 

From  out  the  heart  of  an  autumnal  day 
A  sound  unwonted  took  the  listening  ear  j 

At  first  dim  in  the  sky  and  far  away, 
But  ever  waxing  louder  and  more  clear. 

And  then  a  mighty  shadow  seemed  to  come 

Between  the  sun  and  me,  and  all  the  air 
Shook  vibrantly,   gave  forth   a   grave,    great 
hum. 
Till  heaven  became  a  populous  thorough- 
fare 

Of  strenuous   wings   that   beat    the    blue  in 
time  j 
Birds  numberless,  yet  one  in  joy  of  flight 
And  the  desire  to  make  a  warmer  clime 
Wherein    to     mate    and    nest    and    have 
delight. 

A  hundred  wind-harps  played  in  unison 
Their  passing  was,  a  sight  of  buoyancy 

24 


OCTOBER 

Beyond  us  earthlings  ;  of  my  memories,  one 
Most    fraught    with     sense    of  fetterless 
grace  and  glee. 


OCTOBER 

Now  is  the  world  a-muse,  and  earth  and  sky 

Are  in  a  pact  of  uttermost  content  5 
Pan's  mood  is  pensive,  Beauty  passes  by 
With    steps    loath-lingering    and    all    be- 
sprent 
With  colors  o'er  her  garments  of  Delight, 
Along    the    stream    and    up    the    mountain 
height. 

The  shocks  of  corn  stand  ghostly  gray  a-row, 
Weird  Indian  chiefs  who  brood  on  tribal 
wrongs 
And  ultimate  requital  j   all  aglow 

Is    every  swamp    with    maples,    and    the 
songs 
Of  crickets  blend  in  most  harmonious  wise 
Into  the  azure  landscape's  dreams  and  dyes. 

The    yellowing    birches    and    the    elms    do 
make 

^5 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

The    road    a    slumbrous    way    through 
wonderland  j 
The  sumach  startles  you  to  wide-awake, 

So  vivid  is  her  crimson  j  nigh  at  hand 
Or  far  afield  the  dog-wood  burns,  and  fills 
With  witchery  of  garnet  wolds  and  hills. 

Like  fire  the  huckleberry  vines  across 

The  meadows  run  5    soft  sleep  the    gray 
old  stones. 
The  fences  in  their  eld  of  time  and  moss, 
Save  when  all-blazoned  by  the  clambering 
zones 
Of  woodbine,  magical  for  shaded  reds  : 
Hard  by  the  asters  lift  their  bloomy  heads. 

Beside   bronzed    oaks    the    fruity    chestnuts 
drop 
Their    glossy    burthens    down,    a    sylvan 
scene  j 
Granges  innumerable  groan  as  crop 

On  crop  is  gathered  in  ;  the  air  is  keen 
With  scent   of  smoke,   the  pied  leaves  fall 

to  earth 
In  ruddy  troops,  for  burial  and  rebirth. 


26 


THE   VANISHED    VOICE 

O  splendid  beauty  of  the  day  !  O  eve 

Made  luminous  by  the  punctual  harvest 
moon, 
The  sun's  close  comrade  !  weave  and  inter- 
weave 
Your  changes,  for  the  season  shifts  o'er- 
soon. 
Evanishing  while  still  we  deem  it  here  ; 
Such  transient  loveliness  is  twofold  dear. 

Now  is  the  year's  recessional  j  for  though 
Her  robes  are  richer- wrought  than  in  the 
spring 
What  time  the  proud  procession  paced  slow 
Up  the  vast  church  of  Nature's  fashion- 
ing, 
Soon  moans  — these  pulsing  pomps  left  far 

behind  — 
Down  unillumined  aisles  the  requiem  wind. 


THE   VANISHED    VOICE 

There    stood    a  tree    beside    his  boyhood's 

door 
That  faced  the  west,  and  often,  just  before 


27 


DUMB   IN   JUNE 

The     sundown,    seemed    transfigured    with 

the  light 
That  flooded  in,  and  keen  upon  his  sight 
Burned    images    of  flame.      And  from  the 

tree 
Fluted  a  nameless  bird  so  goldenly 
He  seemed  part  of  the  sunset  and  the  sky. 

The  listener  has  listened  for  that  cry 
Of  love  and  longing  many  a  weary  time 
And  heard  it  never,  nor  can  mortal  rhyme 
Encompass    all    its    sweetness  :     could    the 

place, 
The  homely  homestead  and  the  subtle  grace 
Of  youth  return,  the  magic  moment  when 
The    western    sun  shows  heaven    to    earth- 
doomed  men, 
But      transiently,     perchance    the    chanting 

bird 
Would    be   there  too,    perchance    his  voice 
were  heard. 

The  listener  listens  vainly  ;  song  is  rife 
Still  in  the  world,  still  love  illumines  life  j 
But  he  would  give  the  all  of  after  years, 
Its  triumphs,  wisdoms,  and  revealing  tears. 


28 


YESTERDAY 

To  list  that  little  bird-soul  from  its  nest 
Leap  into  lyric  rapture,  sink  to  rest, 
Youth  in  the  air  and  sunset  in  the  west. 


YESTERDAY 

My  friend,  he  spoke  of  a  woman  face  ; 

It  puzzled  me,  and  I  paused  to  think. 
He  told  of  her  eyes  and  mouth,  the  trace 

Of  prayer    on    her  brow,   and   quick    as 
wink 
I  said  :    **  Oh  yes,  but  you  wrong  her  years. 
She's  only  a  child,  with  faiths  and  fears 

That  childhood  fit.      I  tell  thee  nay  ; 

She  was  a  girl  just  yesterday.'"* 

<'  The  years  are  swift  and  sure,  I  trow "" 
(Quoth   he).      <<You    speak    of    the    long 
ago." 

Once  I  strolled  in  a  garden  spot. 
And  every  flower  upraised  a  head 

(So  it  seemed),  for  they,  I  wot. 

Were   mates   of  mine  5    each  bloom  and 
bed, 

Their  hours  for  sleep,  their  merry  mood, 

29 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

The    lives  and   deaths   of  the   whole  sweet 
brood, 
Were  known  to  me  j  it  was  my  way 
To  visit  them  but  yesterday. 

Spake  one  red  rose,  in  a  language  low  : 
*«  We  saw  you  last  in  the  long  ago." 

Entering  under  the  lintel  wide, 

I  saw  the  room  j   'twas  all  the  same  : 
The  oaken  press  and  the  shelves  aside. 

The  window  small  for  the  sunset  flame, 
The  book  I  loved  on  the  table  large  j 
I  opeM,  and  lo  !   in  the  yellow  marge 

The  leaf  I  placed  was  shrunk  and  gray. 

I  swear  it  was  green  but  yesterday  ! 

Then  a  voice  stole  out  of  the  sunset  glow  : 
*'  You  lived  here,  man,  in  the  long  ago." 

'Tis  the  same  old  tale,  though  it  comes  to 

me 
By  a  hundred  paths  of  pain  and  glee. 
Till  I  guess  the  truth  at  last,  and  know 
That  Yesterday  is  the  Long  Ago. 


30 


COMPENSATION 


COMPENSATION 


Within  the  desert,  cowled  and  vigil-worn, 
The  eremite  in  prayer  and  fasting  bides  ; 

All  world-delights  his  holy  thinkings  scorn  : 
The  Book,  the  crucifix,  his  only  guides. 

But  on  a  morn  when  flamed  the  rising  sun 
And   scared  the    panther  from   the  open 
plain. 
The  eremite,  his  night-time  watching  done. 
Broke  bread,   and  would    his  missal  con 
again. 

Then  came  a    thought  and    slunk  into  his 
mind. 
Compounded   half  of  lust    and    half  of 
hate  j 
And    for    an  hour    his    soul  was    sick    and 
blind, 
And  he  a  worldling  moaning  at  his  fate. 

While  In  a  city's  most  unholy  place, 

There  came  unto  a  knave,  a  tippling  clod, 

A  thought  as  tender  as  a  child's  small  face. 
And  white  as  Is  the  vestlture  of  God. 

31 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


DAY    AND    NIGHT 

The  day  is  a  fair  young  hind, 

Gracile,  with  life  athrill  ; 
She  comes  on  feet  of  the  wind 

When  the  light  leaps  over  the  hill. 

The  night  is  a  huge  black  hound 
As  foul  as  the  hind  is  fair, 

And  he  hunts  her  beauty  to  ground 
Till  the  morning  sun  cries  Ware  I 


SCHOOLBOYS 

I  could  wish  that  death  might  come 
Like  the  respite  to  a  task,. 

Or  a  holiday  hard-won. 

Life's  long  schooling  burdensome 
Over  now,  so  we  may  bask 

In  a  sense  of  duty  done  5 

In  a  sense  of  freedom  wide 

Opening  out  on  every  side 

Like  to  lads,  who  count  the  days 
To  the  glad  vacation  time. 


32 


IN    THE    SHADOWS 

While  their  hearts  go  truanting  ; 
Though  they  walk  appointed  ways 
Duteously,  the  home-bells  chime 
In  their  ears,  the  home-birds  sing. 
And  they  hear  their  cronies  call 
To  some  game  or  festival. 


IN    THE    SHADOWS 

As  the  shadows  filled  the  room  with  peace, 
We  spoke  of  our  absent  friends  : 

How  some  were  dead  and  some  were  sped 
To  the  far-away  earth  ends. 

And  by  some  magic  of  yearning  hearts, 
The  lost  seemed  warm  and  near  ; 

Yea,  loved  so  much  we  could  almost  touch 
Their  hands  and  feel  them  here. 

And  when  the  lamps  were  lit,  and  speech 

Waxed  merrier,  yet  the  place 
Felt  strangely  bare,  and  each  one  there 

Missed  some  beloved  face. 


33 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


SEA-PICTURES 

FAR    NIENTE 

Soft  languors  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 
A  blissful   swoon  that  takes  the  sense  In 
thrall  5 

My  hopes  are  dead,  my  memory  is  asleep, 
I  only  lie  and  watch  the  waters  fall 

And  lift,  and  let  my  tired  spirit  steep 
In  sun  and  sea,  as  happy  as  a  hound 
That  lazes  on  a  plot  of  grassy  ground  ; 

Until     the    dim    night    shadows   come    and 
creep 
Between  the  day  and  me,  and  end  it  all. 

NIGHT    NOISES 

No    voice  of  crickets    wearing  through  the 
night 
From   skeins  of  dew  in  scented  summer 

fields  5 
No  sleep-time  chirp  of  birds,  no  tree  that 
yields 
A    solemn  sigh    when  touched    by    breezes 

light. 
Instead,  a  throb  of  engines  in  their  might, 

3  + 


SEA-PICTURES 

The   scurrying   seamen   with   their  weird 
Yo-ho  ! 
The   creak    of  ropes,    the    lapping    of  sad 

waves, 
That  seem  to  grieve  above  forgotten  graves, 
And  gossip  on  lost  ships'  of  long  ago. 

OFF    THE    HAVEN 

Up  Stole  a  fog,  a  chill  and  ghastly  thing. 
That   gloomed   the   sea  and  hid  her  face 
from  me  ; 
My  soul  was  like  a  bird  with  broken  wing  ; 
A    dismal    bell    warned    homing    barks 
away. 

Then    shot    a    sun-shaft ;     like    a    phantom 
host. 
Born   of  the   night  and  mailed  in  sullen 
white. 
The  riven  mists  drew  off,  and  lo  !  the  coast 
Lay  green   and  glad   beyond   the  waters 
gray. 


35 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


SONG    AND    SINGER 

I    saw    him     once,    the    while    he    sat    and 

played  — 
A  stripling  with  a  shock  of  yellow  hair  — 
His    own    rare    songs,    in    mirth   or   sorrow 

made, 

But  tender  all,  and  fair. 

And  as  the  years  rolled  by  I  saw  him  not. 
But  still  his  songs  full  many  a  time  I  sung. 
And  thought  of  him  as  one  who  has  the  lot 
To  be  forever  young. 

Until  at  last  he  stood  before  mine  eyes 

An   age-bent  man,  who   trembled   o'er   his 

staff  j 
My  sight  rebelled  to  see  him  in  such  guise. 
Ripe  for  his  epitaph. 

I  grieved  with  grief  that  to  a  death  belongs  ; 
How  Time  is  stern  I  had  forgot,  in  truth. 
And  how  that  men  wax  old,  whereas  their 
songs 

Keep  an  immortal  youth. 


36 


MARCH    DAYS 

MARCH    DAYS 

I 

The  world  to-day  is  a  nun  In  gray, 
And  the  wind  is  her  walling  prayer 

To  God,  to  give  her  a  soul  like  May, 
Flower-sweet,  white,  and  fair. 

II 

Still  as  a  lake  at  even  is  the  air  ; 

The  heavens  are  hid  j  I  mark  not  any- 
where 
A  hopeful  sign  hung  out  by  plain  or  hill  ; 
Only  the  etched  brown  trees  and  barren 
fields  are  there. 

How  like  a   madman's   dream  the  thought 
of  June  ! 
Shall    this    warped  pipe    e'er    swell    with 
some  soft  tune 
That  calls  for  liquid  stops  and  languorous 
skill, 
The  piper  lying  prone  beneath  a  summer 
moon  ? 


37 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


III 


The  mystery 
And  magic  of  the  spring  ! 
It  seizes  on  this  bleak  and  sullen  thing 

Called  March,  and  see  ! 
Bland    skies,   faint    odors  as  of  slumbering 
flowers. 

Faint  bird  songs  in  the  bowers, 
A    soft    south    wind,    and,    cradled  in  the 
wood, 

As  sweet  as  womanhood. 
As  shy  as  any  maiden  lured  by  love, 
The  dimly  flushed  arbutus  bloom  above 
The  harsh  earth  soon  will  peer. 
And  April  airs  be  here  ! 


IN    DELIRIUM 

Lying  in  delirium. 
Fancies  strange  do  flockwise  come  ; 
Happy  thoughts  and  bitter  some. 

Now  I  rest  on  azure  seas 

Bathed  in  light,  and  hear  the  wail 

38 


IN    DELIRIUM 


Of  the  waves,  and  seem  to  feel 
Languid  lappings  at  the  keel 
Of  my  boat,  the  while  a  breeze 
Pushes  gently  at  the  sail. 

Now  I  grope  through  rayless  mines 
Searching  for  a  gem  whose  beam 
I  may  use  to  guide  me  fair 
To  the  upper  world  of  air  j 
Search  in  vain  for  any  signs 
Of  its  heart  of  fiery  gleam. 

Now,  again,  I  toss  among 

Clouds  that  are  with  thunders  charged  ; 
There  amid  the  elements 
All  my  soul  and  all  my  sense 
Seems  heroic  grown,  my  tongue 

Touched  with  fire,  my  life  enlarged. 

I  am  borne  unto  a  place 
Like  a  paradise  for  flowers, 
Shade  and  sun,  to  hear  aloft 
Dreamy  songs  and  snatches  soft, 
While  below,  a  mystic  bass 

Chants  with  measured  beat  the  hours. 


39 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


I  am  In  the  daylit  street 
Of  a  city,  and  my  hand 

Suddenly  is  grasped  by  one 
On  whose  grave  the  snow  and  sun 
Years  and  years  have  blown  and  beat 
Since  he  sought  the  Silent  Land. 

But  to  one  strange  spot  I  must 
E'er  return,  and  ever  find 

What  must  always  bring  to  me 
Lack  of  ease,  and  agony, 
Till  the  day  that  I  am  dust, 
All  my  anguish  left  behind. 

This  it  is  :  I  see  my  love 

Holding  forth  beseeching  arms, 
'Tired  in  white,  and  near  as  wan 
As  the  robe  she  rests  upon  j 
See  a  fearful  storm  above 

Swooping  swift,  and  big  with  harms. 

Yet  I  may  not  move,  nor  go 
One  sweet  step  to  comfort  her  ; 
Chains  are  on  me,  till  I  cry  : 
Let  me  free  or  let  me  die  I 

40 


UNAFRAID 


God,  the  white  face  begging  so  ! 
God,  my  limbs  that  may  not  stir  ! 

Lying  in  delirium, 
Fancies  strange  do  flockwise  come  5 
Happy  thoughts  and  bitter  some. 


UNAFRAID 

A  dialect  beyond  our  ken, 

The  accents  of  an  unknown  tongue. 
Life  speaks,  —  this  world  of  passing  men 
That  is  incomparably  old 
And  sad  with  sinning  manifold. 

Yet,     with    each    morning,     sweet    and 
young. 

Yea,  sweet  and  young  it  is,  and  plain 
Its  meaning,  —  for  a  girl's  light  breath 

Outwits  the  wisdom  that  has  lain 

Long  centuries  stored  in  reverend  books. 

They  doubt  and  dream  ;  she^  by  her  looks, 
Laughs  down  the  lie  of  churlish  death. 


41 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


THE    COMFORT    OF    THE    STARS 

When  I  am  overmatched  by  petty  cares 
And    things    of   earth    loom    large,    and 

look  to  be 
Of  moment,  how  it  soothes  and  comforts 
me 
To  step  into  the  night  and  feel  the  airs 

Of  heaven  fan  my  cheek  5  and,  best  of  all. 
Gaze  up  into  those  all-uncharted  seas 
Where  swim  the  stately  planets  :   such  as 
these 

Make  mortal  fret  seem  light  and  temporal. 

I  muse  on  what  of  Life  may  stir  among 
Those    spaces    knowing  naught   of  metes 

nor  bars  ; 
Undreamed-of  dramas  played  in  outmost 
stars. 
And  lyrics  by  archangels  grandly  sung. 

I  grow  familiar  with  the  solar  runes 

And  comprehend   of  worlds    the    mystic 
birth  : 


42 


THE  COMFORT  OF  THE  STARS 


Ringed  Saturn,  Mars,  whose  fashion  apes 
the  earth. 
And  Jupiter,  the  giant,  with  his  moons. 

Then,    dizzy    with    the    unspeakable    sights 
above. 
Rebuked    by    Vast    on    Vast,    my    puny 

heart 
Is  greatened  for  its  transitory  part. 
My  trouble  merged  in  wonder  and  in  love. 


43 


FROM    THE    GARDEN 


I 

A    SPRING   THOUGHT 

In  the  spring  I  have  leaned  me  full  close  to 

the  bark  of  a  tree, 
To  know  if  its  heart  were  athrob  with  spring 

passion  and  glee, 
And  found  that  its  longing  was  like  to  the 

longing  in  me. 

In  the  spring  I  have  bent  to  the  odorous  lips 

of  a  rose, 
Await  for  the  summer  her  virginal  heart  to 

unclose. 
And  found  her  full  fain  of  the  spring-tide 

that  blossoms  and  blows. 

In  the  spring  I  have  harked  to  the  bounti- 
ful song  of  a  bird 

Outbreathing  his  joyance  as  plainly  as  ever 
man  heard. 

Albeit  his  bliss  be  not  caught  in  a  crystal- 
line word. 

And  so,  when  they  tell  me  the  bird-song, 
the  rose,   and  the  beat 


DUMB   IN    JUNE 

In  the  turbulent  heart  of  the  tree  are  sense- 
less though  sweet 

Revealments  of  nature,  spring-stirred  by  the 
spirit  of  heat, 

I  laugh  in  my  heart  as  one  laugheth  who 

knoweth  the  best  5 
And  never  I  trust  to  such  testaments  cold, 

but  I  rest 
In  the  secrets  the  bird  and  the  rose  and  the 

tree  have  confessed. 


II 
STILL   DAYS    AND    STORMY 

Yesterday  the  wind  blew 
Down  the  garden  walks  : 

Marigolds,  the  day  through. 
Trembled  on  their  stalks. 

But  to-day  the  wind's  dead, 

Marigolds  are  still  : 
Miss  they  what  the  wind  said  ? 

Do  they  take  it  ill  ? 

48 


TWO    ROSES 

Yesterday  my  love  stood 
Hearkening  to  me  ; 

Fair  flower  of  womanhood, 
All  a-tremble  she. 

But  to-day  she's  sad,  still, 
Makes  no  true-love  sign  : 

Is  her  lover  to  her  will  ? 
Is  she  yet  mine  ? 


Ill 

TWO    ROSES 

A  wild  rose  spake  to  a  city  rose  : 

**  How  sad  is  your  lot,  your  life  ! 
You   miss  the   kiss   of  the  wind  that  blows 
In  the   open    field,    where   the  glad  stream 
flows. 
And  the  days  with  summer  rife.'" 

The  city  flower  softly  smiled. 

For  she  knew  what  things  are  best  : 


49 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

**  How    little     you     dream     of   love,    poor 

child  ! 
What    time    you    are    out    in    the     tempest 

wild, 
I  sleep  on  my  lady's  breast."" 


IV 
A    MEADOW    FANCY 

In  the  meadows  yonder  the  winged  wind 
Makes  billows  along  the  grain  ; 

With   their    sequence    swift    they    bring    to 
mind 
The  swash  of  the  open  main. 

Till  I  smell  the  pungent  brine,  and  hear  — 
Mine  eyes  grown  dim  —  the  cry 

Of  the  sailor  lads,  and  feel  vague  fear 
Of  the  storm- wrack  in  the  sky. 


50 


GOD'S  GARDEN 

V 

GOD'S  GARDEN 

The  years  are  flowers  and  bloom  within 

Eternity's  wide  garden  5 
The  rose  for  joy,  the  thorn  for  sin, 

The  gardener  God,  to  pardon 
All  wilding  growths,  to  prune,  reclaim. 
And  make  them  rose-like  in  His  name. 

VI 

THE    FLOWER    OF    SEVEN 
CHANGES 

(The  hydrangea  is  so  called  by  the  Japanese.) 

At  first,  in  early  days 
Of  summer-time,  a  blossoming  of  blooms 
Rich-tinted,  delicate-dyed,  as  if  the  looms 

That  wove  it    whirled  in   chambers  dim 
with  haze. 
In  secretest  fair  rooms 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

Of  wonder  and  delight  and  rare  designs, 
Wrought    marvelous    in    hues    and   lovely- 
lines. 

And  then  bland  hours,  wherein 
The  pink  grows  into  purple,  fades  to  flame 
Likest  to  fire,  yet  never  twice  the  same  5 

Some  petals  white  as  love,  some  swart  as 
sin, 
Subtle,  inconstant,  luring  human  eyes 
By  soft  evanishment  and  slow  surprise. 

Thereto  a  somber  mood 
Of     duns     and     smoke-touched     textures, 

dreamy  glints. 
With  here  and  there    for  memory,  warmer 
hints 
Of  rose,  or  sunset  yellow's  quietude. 
This  is  her  season  of  most  calm  release 
From  mid-June    passion  j    it  is    large  with 
peace. 

Follows  thereon  a  spell 
Of  wraith-like  flowers,  aspen-thin  and  pale. 
Inwove  with  autumn  reveries,  the  wail 

Of  wind  in  leafless  boughs  a  fitting  knell 


5^ 


THE    FLOWER    OF    CHANGES 

Above  her  sometime  splendor  ;  yet  a  sight 
Ineffably  harmonious,  vaguely  bright. 

And  last,  a  death  so  still 
And  all  unviolent,  you  scarcewise  miss 
The  presence  by  the  door,  nor  reckon  this 

A  perished  beauty  and  a  thwarted  will. 
Nor  is  it  :  with  the  spring,  behold  her  here, 
Protean,  vital  in  the  vernal  year  ! 


53 


A    GROUP   OF   SONGS 


THE    FIRST    SONG 

A  poet  writ  a  song  of  May 

That  checked  his  breath  awhile  ; 

He  kept  it  for  a  summer  day, 
Then  spake  with  half  a  smile  : 

<'  Oh,  little  song  of  purity. 

Of  mystic  to-and-fro. 
You  are  so  much  a  part  of  me 
I  dare  not  let  you  go." 

And  so  he  made  a  sister-song 
With  more  of  cunning  art  5 

But  held  the  first  his  whole  life  long 
Deep  hidden  in  his  heart. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

II 

SONG    IN    ABSENCE 

As  a  poet's  rhyme-word  looks  and  loving 
leans 
To  the  sister  rhyme-word,  set  in  the  line 
below. 
My  heart,   in  the  late  sun's    blaze,   in  her 
yellow  sheens. 
To  you  would  leaping  go. 

As  a  miner    delves  in    the   cool    and  dew- 
drained  earth 
For  the  gold  to  grace  his  lady's  loveliness. 
My  dreamings  delve  thy  soul  to    know  its 
worth 
And  doubt  the  angels  less. 

As  a  sea-bird,   stayed  by  hindering    hands 
ashore. 
Droops  wing,  her  head  yet  holden  toward 
the  sea. 
Sore-sick  to  burst  her  bonds  and  waveward 
soar. 
So  yearns  my  soul  to  thee. 


A    SONG    OF    MEETING 

If  so  that  thou  but  me-ward  turn  as  well, 
Love-longing    like    to    mine   within    thy 
heart, 
There's  neither   peace   of  heaven,  nor  pain 
of  hell 
Shall  keep  us  twain  apart. 


Ill 
A    SONG    OF    MEETING 

In  the  dales  of  a  distant  valley. 

Where  never  a  word  is  said. 
Where  never  a  wind  makes  sally. 

And  memory  e'en  is  dead  j 

At  a  time  when  the  light  is  breaking 
Over  the  dawn-touched  deep. 

At  a  time  when  the  dreams  of  waking 
Are  mixed  with  the  dreams  of  sleep  j 

With  the  face  and  the  old  behavior 

I  loved  in  the  long  ago, 
When  you  were  my  soul  and  savior. 

With  the  face  and  the  form  I  know  — 


59 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

'Tis  thus,  dear  heart,  I  would  greet  you. 
Through  tears  of  a  joy  divine  j 

'Tis  thus,  dear  heart,  I  would  meet  you. 
And  make  you  forever  mine  ! 


IV 

SONG    OF   THE    SEA 

The  song  of  the  sea  was  an  ancient  song 
In  the  days  when  the  earth  was  young  ; 
The  waves  were  gossiping  loud  and  long 
Ere  mortals  had  found  a  tongue  ; 
The  heart  of  the  waves  with  wrath  was  wrung 
Or  soothed  to  a  siren  strain, 
As  they  tossed  the  primitive  isles  among 
Or  slept  in  the  open  main. 
Such  was  the  song  and  its  changes  free. 
Such  was  the  song  of  the  sea. 

The  song  of  the  sea  took  a  human  tone 

In  the  days  of  the  coming  of  man  ; 

A  mournfuller  meaning  swelled  her  moan. 

And  fiercer  her  riots  ran  5 

Because  that  her  stately  voice  began 

To  speak  of  our  human  woes  ; 

60 


SONG    OF    THE   SEA 

With  music  mighty  to  grasp  and  span 
Life's  tale  and  its  passion-throes. 
Such  was  the  song  as  it  grew  to  be. 
Such  was  the  song  of  the  sea. 

The  song  of  the  sea  was  a  hungry  sound 

As  the  human  years  unrolled  ; 

For  the  notes  were  hoarse  with  the  doomed 

and  drowned, 
Or  choked  with  a  shipwreck's  gold  : 
Till  it  seemed  no  dirge  above  the  mould 
So  sorry  a  story  said 
As  the  midnight  cry  of  the  waters  old 
Calling  above  their  dead. 
Such  is  the  song  and  its  threnody. 
Such  is  the  song  of  the  sea. 

The  song  of  the  sea  is  a  wondrous  lay, 

For  it  mirrors  human  life  ; 

It  is  grave  and  great  as  the  judgment  day, 

It  is  torn  with  the  thought  of  strife  ; 

Yet  under  the  stars  it  is  smooth  and  rife 

With  love-lights  everywhere, 

When  the  sky  has  taken  the  deep  to  wife 

And  their  wedding-day  is  fair  — 

Such  is  the  ocean's  mystery. 

Such  is  the  song  of  the  sea. 

6i 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


HEARTH    SONG 

Before  the  hearth  I  dream  of  many  things. 

The    red-eyed  embers   glow,  dull  down, 
expire  ; 
An  evanescent  life  in  each,  that  brings 

Sad  omens  for  the  Life  that  men  desire. 

Will  it  not  end  in  ashes,  like  the  fire  ? 

Not  death  is  here,  but  change  !     Each  spark 
that  gleams 
Is   pent-up  sunlight,  and    the    back-log's 
tune 
Repeats     the    music    of    the     woods     and 
streams. 
Bend  low  and  listen  ;  it  is  Nature's  rune. 
Singing  of  summer,  chanting  soft  of  June. 


6z 


DAYBREAK    SONG 

VI 
DAYBREAK    SONG 

Full    sweet    is    the    night    locust-haunted, 

moon-kist, 
The      noontide,      strong     creature     and 

splendid  j 
But  dawn  has  a  loveliness  blended 
Of  health  and    keen  hope  and    a    puissant 

delight 
In  living,  that  shameth  the  languor  of  night 
Or  stress  of  the  noon  with  its  urgence  and 

plight. 

And  so,  when  I  list. 

Shaking    slumber    and    sleep   from    mine 
eyes, 
Soft  somnolence  scorning, 
I  love  to  be  under  the  skies, 
I  long  to  be  up  and  away, 
I  lust  to  be  out  with  the  day 
At  light's  first  forewarning. 
When  the  winds  are  all  whist 
And  the  magic  of  mist 
Is  over  the  shine  of  the  morning  ! 

63 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

VII 

A    SONG    OF    LIFE 

A  song,  boys,  a  song  ! 
Life  is  young  yet, 
Love  has  tongue  yet  5 
Why  should  Life  and  Love  go  v^^rong  ? 
Come,  boys,  a  song  ! 

A  song,  boys,  a  song  ! 
Life's  at  flush  still. 
Love's  ablush  still  ; 
What  though  cares  and  curses  throng  ? 
Come,  boys,  a  song  ! 

A  song,  boys,  a  song  ! 
Life  is  gray  now. 
Love's  away  now, 
We  are  left  to  limp  along  5 
Still,  boys,  a  song  ! 


64 


A    SONG    OF    LIFE 

A  song,  boys,  a  song! 
Death  is  here  soon. 
Death  will  cheer  soon, 
Death  is  nigh,  and  Love  is  strong  ; 
So,  boys,  a  song  ! 


65 


SONNETS 


THE    SPIRIT 

If  so  there  were  a  spirit,  poised  in  peace 
Above  all  wind-gusts  in  the  heavens  high, 
And  he  might  mark   us   mortals  laugh   or 

cry, 
According  as  the  gloomed  clouds  increase 
Or  suns  beguile  them  into  golden  fleece  ; 
Methinks  he  would  be  like  to  smile,  to  sigh 
(So  placid  he,  so  far  within  the  sky. 
And  knowing   God's  great  love  can  never 

cease). 
That  we  the  puny  yet  the  prideful  race 
Must  change  as  skies  change  ;  be  like  babes 

that  fret 
Whenso   their  yearning  mother   moves  her 

breast 
To  ease  her  mothering,  or  turns  her  face 
Aside  a  moment,  reaching  out  to  get 
Some  wrapping    soft    to   lull   their  limbs  to 

rest. 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


AN    UNPRAISED    PICTURE 

I  saw  a  picture  once  by  Angelo. 

"Unfinished,"    said    the   critic  j    **  done 

in  youth  5 ' ' 
And  that  was   all,  no  thought   of  praise, 
forsooth  ! 
He  was  informed,  and  doubtless  it  was  so. 
And  yet,  I  let  an  hour  of  dreaming  go 
The  way  of  all  time,  touched  to  tears  and 

ruth. 
Passion  and  joy,  the  prick  of  conscience' 
tooth. 
Before  that  careworn    Christ's    divine,    soft 
glow. 
The    painter's    yearning   with   an   unsure 
hand 
Had  moved  me   more   than  might  his  mas- 
ter days  5 
He  seemed  to  speak  like  one  whose  Mec- 
ca-land 
Is    first   beheld,    though   faint    and    far    the 
ways  ; 
Who  may  not  then  his  shaken  voice  com- 
mand. 
Yet   trembles   forth   a  word   of  prayer  and 
praise. 

70 


WOOD  WITCHERY 


WOOD  WITCHERY 

The    way    ran  under    boughs  of  checkered 

green 
Where  live  things  stirred,   and  sweet  lights 

glinted  through, 
And    airs    were  cool    and    scented  j  well  I 

knew 
It     was     New    England,     but     this     fresh 

demesne 
Was  full  of  fabled  folk  no  eye  hath  seen, 
Yet  every  poet's  heart  must  take  for  true  : 
Dryads  and  hamadryads,  satyrs  too. 
And  fountain-nymphs,  and  trolls  of  freakish 

mien. 
Then,  like  a  flash,  the  oneness  of  the  world 
Broke  on  me  5    mythland  was  not  here  or 

there. 
But  wheresoever  shy  Fancy  had  unfurled 
Her    wings,   perceiving   Nature  young    and 

fair  ; 
New  England  spelt  but  Arcady,  the  same 
Unaging  beauty  by  another  name. 


71 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


DESERTED  FARMS 

Aforetime,  fruitfulness  and  tilth  were  here. 

Snug  granges  held  the  harvests,  acres  broad 

Were  rich  in  grass  and  grain  5  the  good- 
man's  board 

Groaned  with  its  plenty,  and  a  rustic  cheer 

Sat  in  the  homesteads  sprinkled  far  and  near. 

To-day,  prosperity  no  more  is  lord  ; 

Choked  wells,  roofs  fallen,  weed-grown 
ways  afford 

A  vision  desolate  and  a  memory  drear. 

Sons  of  New  England,  your  ingratitude. 

Like  that  once  shown  to  tragic  Lear,  is 
base  ! 

For  now  ye  scorn  the  teeming  mother- 
breast 

That  gave  you  strength,  and  in  a  vagrant 
mood 

Will  turn  to  alien  meadows  of  the  West, 

Or  toward  the  peopled  cities  set  your  face. 


72 


REALISTS 


REALISTS 


They  peer  at  life  with  analytic  eyes, 
And  paint  so  patiently  each  several  scene, 
You  vow  that  naught  is  wrong,  each  shade 

and  sheen 
Set  on  the  canvas  in  full  faithful  wise. 
And  yet  it  looks  amiss,  the  picture  lies  — 
You  hardly  know  wherein  or  how,  I  ween. 
For    skies    are    blue,    the  summer  grass    is 

green. 
The  men  and  women  walk  of  proper  size. 

Once  I  beheld  a  group  of  sorrowing  men 
Who  bent  above  the  death-mask  of  a  maid. 
The  lines  of  the  loved   face  were   doubtless 

there. 
But  as  each  looked  he  started  back  again 
As  from  a  stranger,  chilled  and  half  afraid. 
Her  features  lacked  the  soul  had  made  them 

fair. 


73 


BLANK   VERSE 


IN    SLEEP 

Not    drowsihood     and     dreams    and     mere 

idless, 
Nor  yet  the  blessedness  of  strength  regained, 
Alone    are   in  what    men  call    sleep.     The 

past, 
My  unsuspected  soul,  my  parents'  voice. 
The  generations  of  my  forebears,  yea. 
The  very  will  of  God  himself  are  there 
And  potent-working  :  so  that  many  a  doubt 
Is  wiped  away  at  daylight,  many  a  soil 
Washed  cleanlier,    many    a  puzzle    riddled 

plain. 
Strong,  silent  forces  push  my  puny  self 
Towards  unguessed   issues,   and  the  waking 

man 
Rises  a  Greatheart  where  a  Slave  lay  down. 


THE   LOST    ATLANTIS 

Deep    in    our    soul-seas    there    are    sunken 

hopes 
That    once     gleamed    marble-white,     pure 

shafts  of  stone 
With  carvings  thereupon  of  cryptic  joy 


DUMB   IN    JUNE 

Long,    long  forgotten  ;  streets    submerged, 

that  erst 
Were  brave  with  every  sign  of  festal  life  ; 
And  scented  groves  that  stand  for  dreams  ; 

and  near, 
Great  towers  stately  builded,  palaces 
For    pleasure-making    when    the    time    was 

May  ; 
All  dim  in  tangles  of  mermaiden's  hair. 
The  traffic  of  a  world  of  elder  time 
Choked  potently  by  water,  and  engirt 
With      grewsome      shapes      and     growths 

beneath  the  brine. 

Deep    in    our    soul-seas,     drowned  5     while 

present  waves 
Glide  smoothly  o'er  the  lost  Atlantis,  once 
So  regnant  in  our  Past  5  and  summer  sails 
Fleet  onward    toward    new    Western  isles, 

since  man 
Must    ever  gear   him    for  new  quests,   and 

leave 
The  mute  memorials  of  the  lapsed  years. 


78 


SPIRITS    OF     SUMMER 


SPIRITS     OF    SUMMER 

Three  creatures  of  the  summer  are  to  me 
Of  spirit  import.      First,  the  milkweed  dun, 
Diaphanous,  most  insubstantial  wight 
Of  plantkind  —  satin  seeds  in  silken  sheaths 
The  winter  long,  a  memory,  not  a  flower 
That  reckons    bloom  and   fragrance    as  its 

due. 
Then  the  white  birch,  a  ghost  amongst  its 

mates 
I'   the  forest,  glimmering-boled  and    phan- 
tom-tall. 
Crowned    with    a    largess  of    most    glossy- 
leaves. 
And  last,   the  thrush,  wood-hid,   aloof  and 

Ipne, 
A  disembodied  voice,  a  phantasy. 
That    shapes    the    plastic    soul    to    higher 

things. 
Three  summer  creatures  good  to  know  and 
love. 


79 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


MORTIS    DIGNITAS 

Here  lies  a  common  man.  His  horny  hands, 
Crossed  meekly  as  a  maid's  upon  his  breast, 
Show    marks    of   toil,    and  by  his    general 

dress 
You  judge  him  to  have  been  an  artisan. 
Doubtless,  could  all  his  life  be  written  out. 
The  story  would  not  thrill  nor  start  a  tear  j 
He  worked,  laughed,   loved,  and  suffered  in 

his  time. 
And  now  rests    peacefully,    with    upturned 

face 
Whose  look  belies  all  struggle  in  the  past. 
A  homely  tale  :   yet,  trust  me,  I  have  seen 
The  greatest  of  the  earth  go  stately  by. 
While  shouting  multitudes  beset  the  way. 
With  less  of  awe.      The  gap  between  a  king 
And  me,  a  nameless  gazer  in  the  crowd, 
Seemed  not  so  wide  as  that  which  stretches 

now 
Betwixt  us  two,  this  dead  one  and  myself. 
Untitled,  dumb,  and  deedless,  yet  he  is 
Transfigured  by  a  touch  from  out  the  skies 
Until  he  wears,  with  all-unconscious  grace. 
The  strange    and  sudden  Dignity  of  Death. 

80 


VOICES 


VOICES 

A  man  died  yesternight.      To-day  the  town 
Makes  mention  of  his  taking-ofF,  and  sums 
His  virtues  and  his  failings.      On  the  street. 
Midst  many  barterings  and  lures  of  trade, 
In    homes   where  he   was  known,    in   busy 

marts, 
Or  public  places  where  the  commonweal 
Gathers   the   town-folk  :    up   and   down  his 

name 
Is  spoke  of,  in  as  various  ways  of  speech 
As  are  the  voices  various  sounding  it  : 
Gruff-throated  bass,  shrill  treble  of  old  age, 
Soft  sibilancy  of  a  woman's  tongue. 
Or  reed-like  utterance  of  a  little  child. 
Thus  one,  his  mate  in  business  :    *<  Ah  !    a 

shrewd 
Dry  head  was  that  5  much  loss  to  us,  much 

loss. 
And  as  for  heart ' '  —  wise   shrug   of  shoul- 
ders now  — 
**Well,     'tis    but    little     quoted    here     on 

'change.'' 
Another,  who  had  summered  with  him  once 
In  leisure-time  :  *<  A  right  good  fellow  gone  ! 

81 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 

'TIs  true,  he  liked  his  ease  j  but  who  does 

not? 
For  me,  give  me  the  man  that  Horace  loved. 
Who  deemed   it  wise  to  fool  when  season- 
able." 
A  tiny  one  who  oft  had  found  great  store 
Of  sweetmeats   in   his  hand,  and,  prized  far 

less. 
Great  store  of  tenderness  within  his  heart  : 
*<  Oh,  won't  he  come  and  see  us  any  more  ? '' 
His  surpliced  pastor,  bound  to  save  his  soul. 
Balanced  a  bit  by  inconsistencies 
He  thought  he  saw,  in  private  to  his  wife  : 
*«  Alas,  poor  soul  !  if  only  he  had  grasped 
That  matter  of  the  creed,  and  made  us  sure  ! 
But  then  —  his  heart  was  right,  and  God  is 

good.'' 
And  one,  a  woman  who  had  found  his  arms 
An     all-protecting      shelter    through    long 

years. 
Said   naught,  but   kissed  the   tokens  he  had 

left, 
And  dreamt  of  heaven  for  his  sake  alone. 
Meanwhile,  what  was   this  man,    and   what 

his  place  ? 
You  ask,  confused  by  all  this  Babel  talk 
Of  here  and  yonder,  from  his  fellow-men. 

82 


MASKS 

I  am  as  ignorant  as  any  one 

Whose   speech   you  heard,    and  yet  I  loved 

him  well. 
Nay,    ask    me  not  :  ask    only     God.      He 

knows. 

MASKS 

A  certain  friend  of  mine,  whose  daily  praise 
Was  in  the  mouths    of  men,   once  startled 

me 
By  what  he  said  when  I,  like  all  the  rest, 
Cried  up  his  virtues  and  his  blameless  life. 
In    this  wise  speaking  :    "  Stop  !  you  mad- 
den me. 
You  and  the  crowd  but  look  to  what  I  do, 
And   when  you  find  me  righteous  and  the 

law 
Ne'er    broken,   why,  you   make  a  loud  ac- 
claim. 
Holding  me  guiltless  and  a  perfect  man. 
But  tell  me,  friend,   whether  of  two  is  best  : 
To  let  a  spite  eat  slowly  to  the  heart. 
Making  no  outward  sign,  rebelling  not. 
Or,  by  an  honest  spurt  of  wrathy  blood, 
To  mass  the  hate  of  many  brooding  years 
Into  one  right-arm  blow,  and  so  be  quits  ? 

83 


DUMB    IN   JUNE 

To  speak  in  terms  immaculate  and  nice, 
Yet   curse  in  speechless  thoughts,  to  clean 

forswear 
All  lewdness,  yet  go  lusting  secretly  ? 
To    render  weight  for    weight,   yet  grudge 

the    coin 
Flung  to  a  beggar-lad  —  in  brief,  to  find 
My  soul  the  nesting-place  for  divers  sins. 
And     still    walk    on    in   smug   and    seemly 

guise  ? 
I  tell  thee,  there  are  times  I  hear  a  voice 
Say  very  clear,  though  softly,  in  myself  : 
' '  Twere  better  if  you  sinned  right  openly 
Than  let  the  vileness  stew  within  your  mind 
And  pass  your  properness  upon  the  world. 
Knowing  the  while  the  arch  hypocrisy 
That   takes  the  name   of  angel  where,   in- 
stead. 
Devil  hits  nearer  to  the  truth.'      Ah  me  !  " 
Here,    staying    words,   he  sighed     a   heavy 

sigh  5 
And,  musing,  on  I  strolled,  debating  how 
Mere  masking  tricks  us  all,  and  somewhat 

sad 
To  learn  the  inner  history  of  one 
Whose  common  title    with    the  world  was 

saint, 

84 


THE  BLEAK  O*  THE  YEAR 


THE  BLEAK  O'  THE  YEAR 

There  is  a  time  of  subtle  browns,  and  grayb 
That  run  to  silverings,  and  tremulous  greens. 
And    russet    tints,     and    ash-pale    pools    of 

leaves  j 
Of  ghostly  mosses  and  elusive  grass 
That's  neither  lush  nor  dead;  of  naked  trees 
Ineifably  harmonious  w^ith  the  sky 
That    stretches  vast  and    neutral,   tone    on 

tone, 
Not  to  be  called  a  color,  but  a  thought. 
To  some  this  is  a  barren  time,  a  sleep 
Between  the  winter  and  the  spell  of  spring  ; 
To  me  it  is  the  heart's  own  time  and  tide, 
Being    hidden    from  the    heedless   eye  that 

lusts 
For    flaring    lights    and    sunset    dyes,     yet 

charged 
With    secrets     rare,     and     blendings    into 

dreams. 
And  ecstasies  divine  that  shadow  forth 
A  mystery,  the  Selah  of  the  Soul. 


8s 


DUMB    IN    JUNE 


EARLY    WINTER 

Brown  grass,  picked  out  with  red  of  bushes, 

tones 
Of  silver  on  the  fences  ;  russet,  bronze. 
The    leaves  of   oaks  and    beeches  5    mystic 

black 
Where  pools  of  water  lie,  and  edged  there- 
round 
The  ghostly  glamour  of  the  shallow  ice. 
Above,  a  gray-white  monody  of  sky. 
And    all    between  the  heaven    and  earth  a 

mist 
Of  line,  fast-falling  snow  that  makes  a  veil 
Wherethrough  you  see  a  mystery,  a  blend 
Of  winter  colors  to  a  perfect  whole 
That  lifts  the  heart  with  beauty,  does  atone 
For  long-withholden  loveliness  of  June. 


86 


THE    INAPPRECIABLE   YEARS* 


THE  INAPPRECIABLE   YEARS 

Like    snow    that  falls    on    water    seem    the 

years. 
The  Inappreciable  years  that  melt  away 
Into  Time's  welter —  yet,  unseen,   the  tide 
Is    swelled    thereby,  and  haply  some  good 

ship 
Floated  across  the  sand-bars  into  port 
That    means  smooth  haven  and  a  sight  of 

home. 


87 


THE    ULTIMATE 

When,  of  old,  a  chief  died  in  the  North, 
Then  they  wrapt  him  close  in  fighting  dress. 
Laid  his  life-worn  weapons  him  beside. 
And,  with  stern  and  silent  tenderness. 
In  a  boat  wide-bosomed  on  the  tide, 
Placed  his   death-cold    body,     pushed    him 

forth 
Thence  to  drift  at  will  of  wind  and  fate. 
Till  at  last  he  found  the  Ultimate. 

Amply  weaponed  so,  with  courage  grim, 
Prone  along  my  death-boat,  like  to  him 
I  would  day-long  rock  and  roam  and  wait 
For  a  subtle  turn  of  tide  and  sea. 
For  a  gust  o'  wind  to  break  and  blow 
Love  and  land  and  life  away  from  me  5 
Favoring,  until  I  glide  and  go 
Past  each  bourn  and  billow-boundary 
To  the  waters  lying  round  my  fate. 
To  the  windless,  unoared  Ultimate. 


^       Of   THE 

UWIVERSITY 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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